


an instruction manual would be pretty helpful right about now

by idioteques



Category: New Blood - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Polish Bisexuals, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioteques/pseuds/idioteques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the life of Stefan Kowolski and the things he likes: swearing, Jan, sexual innuendo, oatmeal biscuits, Rash Sayyad.</p><p>(alternatively: Stefan's life is a romantic comedy and he is all the better for it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	an instruction manual would be pretty helpful right about now

 

Jan tells Stefan straight off the bat that he can’t fuck a pair of siblings.

“I mean”, Jan says, “You can. Is possible, fucking them both. At same time, at different time, whatever. But is bad. Not very nice. Not very English. And you, Stefan, are very English. So. You must not fuck brother-sister, _tak_?”

“ _Christ_ ”, Stefan says. “That is- fucking hell, Jan, you bloody well know that’s not what I fucking meant-”

“Then tell me what you mean, _braciszek_. Tell fast before Jeremy Kyle comes.”

Stefan looks heavenwards in suitably melodramatic despair. He presses his phone against his cheek for a few moments before sighing into the speaker.

“I flirted with the lovely sister _before_ I saw the gorgeous, arsehole brother.”

“I do not understand this.”

“Gorgeous brother is the straightest man alive, Jan”, Stefan moans. “And also thinks I’m a bell-end. A trustworthy bell-end he’s sort of friends with, but a bell-end nonetheless.”

“Oh”, Jan replies. “I understand this. You like sister. You like sister very much. But, then- boom! You see brother. You realise you want brother very, _very_ much. But problem is what he wants. And what he wants, you say, is the lady parts. And sometimes, I think, to kill you.”

A brief silence.

“Essentially”, Stefan says.

“Is very sad.”

“Well, I’m fucking aware, Jan”, Stefan replies. “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

“Ah”, Jan says. “No. You too slow. Jeremy Kyle is already here. He is very ugly but I must watch him.”

Stefan thumbs down the end button several times with what some might term ‘brute force’. It might not afford him the thrill of slamming down a landline but for now, it’s all he has.

-

Stefan walks into the lav (that he and Rash now share, what the _fuck_ ) and sees their toothbrushes arranged together with a tube of toothpaste in a wooden mug. He looks at this unbearable picture of innocent domesticity with a dopey expression on his face for what feels like hours before he hears the doorbell ring. He quickly walks out in order to avoid seeing himself blush furiously in front of the sink mirror.

It’s officially moving-in day; they’ve been planning this for nearly two weeks. He has since memorised Rash’s mobile number and coffee order, and Rash hasn’t threatened to disembowel him in several hours ( _hours!_ ). Pathetically, Stefan has never felt happier- no, not even that time his ex-girlfriend agreed to do that thing in that place for him with her index finger.

“You what, mate?” she’d said. “Is that a Polish thing?”

In any event, beds and plastic cutlery are moved into the new flat, an obscene amount of Pot Noodles is bought, and the ringing doorbell signifies Leila’s arrival with a fresh batch of oatmeal biscuits.

“Let me help you with that”, Stefan says magnanimously, inhaling three biscuits in one go.

“I’d like to point out”, she says, laughing- presumably- at Stefan’s unbridled joy, “That I didn’t make these, as you could probably tell by the fact that they’re actually edible.”

Stefan looks at her for a moment as he wipes crumbs from his mouth. Leila smells like flowers, and- fucking hell, he thinks it would be so easy to fall in love with someone like her; so simple, so good, and probably pretty bloody magical.

(Shame her stupid ugly brother with his- with his stupid tall, dark, and horrible bullshit and his- his terrible eyes and his hands- awful! Awful hands that Stefan hasn’t spent a _second_ in bed thinking about- had to get in the way and ruin _everything_.)

“Mum did”, Leila continues, unaware of Stefan’s internal romantic turbulence as she nibbles on a biscuit. “She thinks it’s a bit odd that Rash is suddenly moving in with the man he once referred to as ‘the white lad version of a popcorn kernel between your teeth’, but I think this is her version of giving you both her blessing.”

“Your mum’s really sweet”, Stefan says, taking another piece. “And so are you, Leila. And so are these biscuits, which are clearly proof of a higher power that transcends mortal comprehension. But I’ll be honest with you. Your brother isn’t sweet. He’s not sweet at all. In fact, I think your brother is a right shit, and should therefore- for the good of society- flush himself down a toilet.”

“Love you, too, Stefan”, Rash cheerily mumbles with four oatmeal biscuits stuffed in his mouth. His brown eyes are gold in the sunlight, and a curl of his hair rests against his forehead. His mouth curves into a light pout as he swallows, and he licks his bottom lip with relish.

Stefan quickly looks away, disgusted to find that his disgusting heart has skipped a disgusting beat.

“You’re an absolutely terrible influence on him, you know”, Leila tells Stefan.

“I try”, Stefan wants to reply with an insouciant quirk of his lips, but right at that moment Rash places his unreasonably warm hand on the small of Stefan’s back as he leans in to grab another biscuit. His hand slides down the dip of his spine, and Stefan’s breath catches as the tip of Rash’s little finger accidentally slips under the waistline of his ratty jeans.

“Sorry”, Stefan distantly hears Rash say. “I wanted the last one.”

“Mmmgh”, Stefan says.

This might come as a complete shock to the unacquainted, given his incredible wealth of charm and people skills, but Stefan is actually a bit of a nervous wreck when you get down to it. He gets pushed over the edge, as it were, quite easily by a lot of frankly ridiculous things. Here are a few of them:

  * Eurovision.
  * Pineapple on pizza.
  * Tipping etiquette.
  * Barre chords.



And number five, number _fucking_ five-

“Rash”, Stefan says, not even a full day after moving in, “I- uh, think Rash knows that I fancy him.”

“Stefan”, Jan says, the consonants in his name exploding into a cloud of static in his ear. “What you expect. He is detective. Is his job to know things.”

Stefan is momentarily undone by the simplicity of this truth.

“But how you know he knows?” Jan prods.

“He knows”, Stefan says, darkly. “Trust me.”

“Never”, Jan says. “You forget that you are complete moron, Stefan. You are very paranoid man. Maybe he knows you are terrible flirty government job cyclist. But that’s all. _Idiota_.”

“You think so?” Stefan asks, desperately pacing back and forth in the sitting room. “I mean, fucking hell, Jan- you have no idea how obvious I was- I was practically in his _lap-_ “

“I think I have general idea”, Jan says.

-

“Glad you enjoyed the biscuits”, Leila had said. “I’d better be off. Me and my mates got tickets to see Take That tonight, so-“

“You have the absolute shittest taste in music, Ley”, Rash had complained, at the same time Stefan had absently commented while checking his email, “Gaz Barlow is still well fit, isn’t he? I still would, to be honest.”

A silence had ensued, during which Stefan contemplated the logistics of getting up from the settee and moving to Australia within the next five seconds.

“Uh”, Leila had replied. “Absolutely. Okay. Bye, you two.”

Rash had stared at him as Leila left with a wink and an awkward wave.

“You fancy, uh, boys, or something?” Rash had asked.

“Girls too”, Stefan had said slowly, staring at his shoes. “And like, everyone else.”

“Basically, anyone with low enough standards to sleep with you?” Rash had replied, and the crushing weight on Stefan’s chest had disappeared as he realised that Rash was joking with him.

“Pretty much, man”, Stefan had said, trying not to let his extreme, unadulterated relief pour out of his mouth via sobbing.

Rash’s foot had been right next to his, so he’d casually nudged it with his own, because- well, because that’s what nice, friendly, heterosexual mates did, didn’t they? They fucking jostled, or whatever. Rash had glanced at their feet and then at Stefan’s face. And then he had nudged back. And then so had Stefan. Which had then escalated into a merciless bout of playful kicking and bumping of bony shoulders.

Which had then led to Stefan- dizzy, mindless, _stupid_ with exertion and joy- placing his hand on Rash’s skinny chest and pushing him onto the floor. Which had then led to Rash howling with laughter and saying, “You are a five-year-old!” Which had then led to Stefan- idiot, fucking _idiot_ \- dropping down from the settee onto his knees with a crash (also, maybe, just maybe, steadying himself with a hand on Rash’s firm thigh, his mouth inches away from the sweet curve of Rash’s neck, the tip of his nose brushing Rash's jawline) and panting, “Nah, I’m a big boy, Rash.” Which had then led to Rash going utterly quiet, and Stefan stuttering, “I, uh, have to go the loo” as he stumbled away, and that had been the end of that.

-

“Stefan”, Jan says now. “Stupid child. Is nothing. So you flirt with him? Big deal. You flirt with me. You flirt with my mother.”

“Just because you don't know the difference between pulling and _politeness_ -”

“Anyway. Honesty is best police, yes? You should just tell this boy. Most likely he is madly in love already and is wanting to adopt children and small dog with you.”

“Don’t be a prick”, Stefan replies, already running through a list of possible disyllabic names for their adopted beagle, “Life isn’t a romantic comedy, Jan. If anything, my life is one of those black and white films where houses keep falling on me and everyone’s a little bit racist.”

“I do not understand this whining”, Jan says, “Because my life is very good 90s German pornography.”

“Speaking of which”, Stefan says, “ _I’m a big boy?_ What on- fucking hell, who _says_ something like that-”

“Polish bisexuals?”

“Not! Bloody! Helping!” Stefan shouts into the phone, and adds in a little scream to underscore his grief.

“Is everything alright?” Rash says, doing that fucking horrible thing where he appears out of nowhere and looks heartbreakingly gorgeous while doing so.

“Fuck!” Stefan says, and drops the phone on the uncarpeted floor, whereupon it breaks into exactly three pieces.

Both men fall into a mournful kind of quiet.

“Damn”, Rash says. “It’s shit being you, isn’t it?”

“Your face is ugly”, Stefan says. Somewhat predictably, the insult doesn’t work because it’s half-hearted for several reasons: Rash’s face is objectively brilliant, Stefan regularly fantasises about sitting on it, etc.

Rash laughs at him.

The fucking _nerve_.

“D’you know what?” Stefan says, kicking the remnants of his phone aside. “I’ve had it with you.”

“What?” Rash says, his smile disappearing instantly. “We’ve only been living together a day, you dick!”

“Well”, Stefan says, his voice rising in pitch. “You are incredibly annoying, and just- always _there_ , and you- you make fun of my hair routine-”

“You have a fuckload of hair product, mate”, Rash says, a low blow if there ever were one. “A _fuckload_.”

“I- how dare- and what exactly is a fuckload, then, Professor Einstein?”

“A fuckload is equal to three shitloads”, Rash shoots back, because he is an arsehole, “And a shitload is equal to four tons of L’Oréal.”

“You are terrible at maths and humour!” Stefan shouts, “And I fancy the shit out of you!”

“And _you_ have- what?” Rash says, looking like Stefan’s just told him that they’re going to start micromanaging an all-girl band from eastern Europe, “What did you just say?”

“I said- I said that I fancy you”, Stefan says, miserably. “Okay? There. I admit it. Fucking- murder me or whatever. I can’t do this. I literally cannot- why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

“You fancy me?” Rash asks.

“Yeah, well”, Stefan says. “You’re fit and like, really smart and- yuck. Anyway. Don’t get too hung up over it.”

“You think I’m fit?”

“Fucking well done, detective of the year. Yes. I do. I want you to shag me senseless on this floor and then I want us to have brunch and one of those tiny coffees together and I want us to fucking hold hands and then I want you to shag me again, but none of that’s going to happen, Rash, because we’re _mates_ , because even though you’re so _fit_ , you’re straighter than a line of measuring tape, and I’m losing my fucking _mind_ over the fact that you-”

“God, shut up”, Rash says, and then Stefan finds his mouth otherwise occupied.

Let the record show that yes, Rash’s mouth is just as soft as it looks, possibly softer, and yes, the kiss is a bit sloppy and Stefan’s lips are painfully chapped, and Rash tastes like mint and his tongue is fucking _mental_ , and fuck, Rash is so damn into it Stefan almost feels embarrassed for him, and then gets increasingly embarrassed for himself because shit, he’s moaning and mewling into his mouth like a bloody harlot, and his fingers are pulling at Rash’s hair, and there are suddenly two very eager hands all over Stefan’s hips and arse- “Nice”, Rash breathes, and Stefan nips at his neck as a weak reprimand- and he’s- fucking hell, he’s more than a little half-hard, and-

“You’ve only been living together a day, you dicks!” Leila laughs when she finds Stefan two hours later lying on the settee, wearing Rash’s unbuttoned shirt, and looking- one would hope- deliciously fucked out.

“Honesty is the- ” Stefan starts, and then stops. “Something. I don’t know. Ask Jan. I just had two orgasms.”

“You are such a _man_.”

“Your brother’s well aware”, Stefan leers, arching to show her the bruise on his hipbone.

“My eyes!” Leila yells, running towards Rash’s room. “Rash, your boy toy is harassing me.”

Rash walks out of his bedroom with nothing but a towel draped around his hips, and Stefan’s body- apparently oblivious to the fact that it is equal parts sore, exhausted, and satiated- reacts rather positively to the sight.

“Why do I feel like ‘Stefan, stop harassing and weirdly flirting with my sister’ is going to be a very commonly used imperative in my life?” he says mildly.

“I’d like to be a _very_ commonly used imperative in your life”, Stefan blurts.

“Jesus Christ”, Rash says, looking reluctantly turned on by the idea.

“You two deserve each other, honestly”, Leila says, and walks out of the flat with Rash’s credit card. The door closes behind her.

“So”, Rash says, in a manner that implies a very solemn, profound thought is to follow.

“So”, Stefan says, in a manner that implies something along the lines of, “drop that towel and get on top of me, you skinny bastard”, but classier.

“This isn’t just sex, right?” Rash says. “I’d just like to confirm that.”

“What”, Stefan says, tearing his eyes away from Rash’s abdomen and making an effort at eye contact.

“I mean, I wanted to do this right”, Rash says, frowning. “I- I like you, okay? And we fucking live together, don’t we? But if- I dunno, if you’re not into this, then-”

“No! What?” Stefan says, getting up. “Of course I want this. Of course this isn’t about sex. I mean. It is. Quite a lot of this is about sex. I hope you’re okay with that. But like I said, I want to do the whole… couple thing with you. At least the pre-Gone Girl things for now. You can frame me for murder a bit later.”

Rash looks unconvinced, so Stefan weakly sings, “I want to hold your hand” at him.

A smile tugs at his lips, and Stefan relaxes.

“What are the chances that this would have ended up happening, honestly?” Stefan says, leaning back against the settee. “This is a romantic comedy, Rash. We’re living the Hollywood dream. If only you were just a little bit better-looking”, he adds, brightly.

“You’re such a twat”, Rash says, laughing. “Remind me why I decided to take pity on you?”

“Because of my enormous cock?” Stefan asks innocently.

“You _are_ an enormous cock”, Rash says, and before Stefan can plead his case he is treated to the divine sight of Rash dropping his towel to the floor and walking towards him.

“Hello”, Stefan says, addressing Rash’s crotch.

Rash gently grasps Stefan’s chin to tilt his face upwards. Rash’s eyes are gold in the sunlight again, but this time Stefan doesn’t need to pretend he isn’t staring. They kiss- slow, deep, breathless. There’s no rush. There’s nothing else but them. Rash slowly moves to kiss down Stefan’s neck and Stefan leans forward, his eyes drifting close.

“Idiot”, Rash says, but he means something else.

“Idiot”, Stefan replies, and so does he.

**Author's Note:**

> je regrette, je regrette. and yet!
> 
> go watch this show.


End file.
